


Father's Year

by gardnerhill



Series: Birds of a Father [3]
Category: Gravity Falls, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Animals, Community: watsons_woes, Crack, Ducks, Fluff and Crack, Gay Parents, M/M, Penguins, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 09:12:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15361143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: Parenting is a serious commitment.





	Father's Year

**Author's Note:**

> The animated series _Gravity Falls_ has a Sherlock Holmes pastiche show-within-a-show called "Duck-Tective," most of which can be seen at [this Youtube link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7OTAHhxvr_g).

**Every spring I hear the thrush singing – Mary Oliver**

Mrs. McGillicuddy refused to babysit, so Duck-Tective and Steve began bringing the entire family when they were called for a case. If the sight of a white duck in a deerstalker accompanying a penguin in a flat cloth cap attracted attention, those same birds bracketing ten peeping fluffy black-and-yellow mallard ducklings waddling in a neat line toward a crime scene drew crowds and became a familiar and endearing sight by mid-May.

Fortunately feeding the youngsters was no hardship; if they weren't close enough to a body of water for Steve to take the kids snail-hunting while Duck-Tective examined the body and pecked holes in the police's theories, charmed onlookers happily threw bread crumbs and cracked corn to the ducklings while Daddy and Papa solved crimes.

**One swallow does not a summer make – Aesop**

The work got harder as it got hotter in London; Steve retreated to their rooms to languish in a coal scuttle of chipped ice and Duck-Tective had to be brilliant and parental at the same time.

To make matters worse, the ten youngsters were beginning to molt their fluff and grow in their adult feathers; they were in a duck's ugly, awkward, defiant stage – wearing outrageous hats, listening to ghastly new music and backtalking both parents ("You're not my real father!").

Fortunately as the young ducks developed their distinct personalities several of them began to rebel at always being dragged off to "Dad's stupid detective stuff" and began hanging around the Baker Street flat instead, where Steve could occasionally yell at them to clean their room and pick up their snail shells. The others hung back at the crime scenes whining about how boring everything was, flirting with the other ducks in the vicinity – and occasionally picking up a clue that their adoptive duckfather had missed.

**…[I]f I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns – George Eliot**

Falling leaves and blessedly cool weather meant that both partners were back on the job; family outings and murder sites doubled as launchpads for flying practise. The older waterfowl could leave the young ducks alone – and the occasional rowdy party they interrupted when they returned to Baker Street was worth the breathing space for everyone.

An entire clutch of bright pupils trained since infancy in the art of deducktive reasoning led to the youngsters tracking, quacking and attacking a would-be duck poacher in the park that October – and the youngsters saved a few sharp pecks for Constable Lingonberry for reciting one of his tired bird-puns when he collared the culprit. Steve hugged all the excited mallards, and Duck-Tective said "Your mother would be as proud as we are."

**The birds that Winter drives away / Will surely come again with Spring. - Pierre-Jean de Béranger**

But autumn ends, and when it did Baker Street was deserted – all the youngsters either having flown south or headed off to gain an education. Now it was Duck-Tective who huddled before the fire while Steve reveled in the icy weather outside and helped the police bring in criminals. Ducks don't hibernate, but the sleuth sank into a reverie where he hardly moved for much of the day. It was quiet in their rooms, and clean, and uncrowded, and he ached inside. "Empty nest," Steve said, grooming his partner's nearest wing where he sat by him in the evening. "It's been a busy year. Strange to have the place to ourselves again!"

Duck-Tective stayed inside; Steve brought him a fresh fish once in a while, or a mystery he could solve from his hearth-chair. The days were short and the nights long; the season seemed endless.

But one day crocuses poked through the snow, a few brave thrushes clung to bare branches to sing their greeting, and Constable Lingonberry came to ask for help from the duck detective. "The new chaps say they want the expert there."

Rookie police. Still, the sun was out at last. Duck-Tective hopped down and, with Steve, headed to the crime scene.

Where five young mallard adults surrounded the body and empty safe, and looked up at the new arrivals. "Dad! Pop!" they quacked happily.

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2018 July Watson's Woes Promptfest prompt #19, _Four Seasons._ Give us a glimpse of all four seasons with Holmes and Watson.


End file.
